They Must be Lesbians

          “This is it! Look at that, it’s got to be the best APR we’ve seen so far!” Ed exclaimed. He was looking at an odd looking bottle of locally concocted spirits in Peisey-Nancroix.

            “But what about its WPR?”

            “Tom, the weight to price ratio isn’t half as important as the alcohol to price ratio. You know that.”

            “Fine, I’ve found some incredibly high EWR cereals over here.”

            “Sweet.”

            “Look, this one has over 500 calories per hundred grams.”

            “Bloody hell, that is amazing value for energy.”

            This is what shopping has come to. EWR, WPR, but most importantly APR.

 

*

 

            I just checked my emails. Nothing from Annabell… or Sharona. I’m starting to worry about that last email I sent to Annabell, asking her to be straight with me. I might have made a big mistake there, forcing the issue. But I’m determined to know now, this suspense is too much. I sent her another email, making reference to the first, just in case she didn’t get it. Better to be sure…

 

*

 

            I finished Women in Love today and we agreed to put it into action tonight. We hung about all afternoon feasting on gorgeous food without the least care for a WPR anywhere. Towards the end of the afternoon we found ourselves sat at a table outside a bar, having a drink with two blonde Scandinavian girls.

            This was lucky: since our French isn’t that great it seemed essential that we didn’t attempt to pull off complicated character portrayals in anything but English.

            Of course, it didn’t do any harm that they were hot, and a perfect representation of the equally Scandinavian Ursula and Gudrun from the book.

            We set about acting our parts immediately. In Ed’s case this didn’t mean a great deal. He was Gerald, an arrogant uber-male. I was Birkin, dark, depressed and slightly mysterious, or so I hoped.

            To our despair, the girls didn’t really seem to notice our weirdness, confirming my views once again that foreign girls often seem to perceive personality in a very different way, particularly when its coming from Ed. I spent most of the time with my head in my hands, making completely spurious remarks.

            “How are you guys enjoying the trail?” one of the girls asked.

            “It’s magnificent,” said Ed. “We’re conquering nature and crushing her beneath our feet like that women she is, dominating her and taking her. Yeah!”

            “It’s depressing,” I added.

            “We think it’s beautiful too,” said the other girl. “We just can’t wait to get to the next stage.” They were doing the walk in the opposite direction. “We were at the Refuge de la Leisse yesterday and we just didn’t stop walking all the day to here, it was just so wonderful, yes?”

            “Er,” I said, “isn’t that, like 50 kilometres away?”

            “Ja, we know, it’s not far, but we’re only girls,” they giggled at each other.

            “Oh God,” I said, and put my head back in my hands.

            “You know,” said Ed, “you girls are exactly the types I admire. Such excellent physical specimens. The very best of breeding, quite exceptional, yes. I think I should fuck you both, at the same time.”

            “Oh ja, he’s so funny!” said one of the girls, and left to go back to the bar.

            So it went, for the rest of the night, each of us playing the part, the girls innocent, apparently. At the end, everyone was very drunk and we suddenly realised we had to go to catch the final train home.

            We said goodbye to the girls outside the bar. Ed leant in to one of them to try to take matters further but the girl turned her cheek to him and giggled. “Silly Englishman!”

            We ended up back on the train alone.

            “What the hell went wrong there?” asked Ed. “I thought we, or rather I, had that sown up.”

            I shrugged my shoulders.

            “They must be lesbians.”

Betrayal

          “These people don’t know they’re born,” said Ed, at the top of Le Brevent, the mountain opposite Mont Blanc, across the valley of Chamonix. It was incredible to see so many people everywhere and so many unnatural buildings clustered together.

            We agreed to spend the night in Chamonix as a reward for completing the first of six stages of the walk.

            “How many miles is that section?” asked Ed. He never has any idea of mileages or directions, he lets me handle all of that and simply walks alongside, oblivious.

            “About 50.”

            “Fuck, we’re barely anywhere!”

            “This was your idea. Anyway, what are you going to do for the Return to Sender adventure?”

            “Well, that’s up to you, but I’m sticking to the no more adventures from French people rule. From now on let’s take our cue from books, since we’ve got plenty of those with us now, and no music to speak of it.”

            “Okay. Return to Sender can be a future challenge. In fact, when you return to England to have to ‘return’ to whomsoever is the ‘sender’ of the very next email you receive.”

            We went, therefore, to check our emails.

            “Here we are!” said Ed, a little triumphantly. “It’s Alice!”

            I looked and to my distinct disappointment it was true. She was emailing him. I restrained myself from reading the contents, I didn’t want to know. It seemed like… a betrayal. A betrayal of herself, that is.

            “Fine,” I muttered, and went to check my own messages. I had yet another friendly email from Annabell wishing me luck along the route and telling me how impressed she was with my resolve! I couldn’t believe. In a moment of madness, with Alice somehow in the back of my mind, though to what effect I couldn’t say, I decided to email Annabell back and ask her straight out where she stood with me, whether we could try again.

            As soon as I clicked send I choked, and I’ve been holding my breath ever since…

Inoffensive

          Early this morning I woke up with the sun shining straight through the canvas into my eyes with enough strength to prevent proper sleep. I tried to hide under my pillow but realised I didn’t have one, only various clothes now scattered about my head. I noticed eventually that Ed was awake too, but in denial of the fact. He was pretending to be asleep. I had a rock directly under my back and shifted awkwardly around it. The good news, at least, is that I've realised I can post from my mobile, and there's actually signal out here, so here goes!

            “Oh fuck it,” said Ed, suddenly and loudly. “Let’s get moving, we’ve got mountains to conquer.”

 

*

 

            The first ascent was truly epic. We came across the lake very early, enjoying the bright clear sun and the fresh breeze. As soon as we disembarked on the southern side we located the first GR5 marker: a red and white stripe on a rock. With excitement we looked further up the road and saw the second, and so the next adventure began. To reach the first waypoint, at the top of the mountain adjacent to Lac Lemon, we had to ascend 1,500 metres, around a whole vertical mile. To demonstrate just how ridiculous this is I’ll point out that the highest ‘mountain’ in England is only 1,000 metres tall.

            Three quarters of the way up Ed had a mini-stroke. There’s no other description for it.

            We’d been going for about three hours at a quick, optimistic pace. The gradient was extremely severe and I can’t deny that I was becoming incredibly weary. We hadn’t trained for the walk and it was really taking its toll. I suggested we take a break after a while, or at least slow down, and Ed laughed at me. He was very red in the face though…

Eventually, when he was walking ahead of me, he suddenly stumbled to the side and fell backwards on his pack. He started gasping.

            “Tom… I… can’t feel… my fingers.”

            I looked at him with horror. He started shaking his hands vigorously and then pressed them against his chest.

            “My heart! It’s… thumping so hard… nearly… out of my chest!”

            Then, all at once, he jerked to the side and threw up amongst the rocks and grass.

            He paused, for a moment, gasping again, and then all at once stood up.

            “I’m fine now,” he declared, looking anything but.

            “I don’t think so, Ed. You need a doctor, and fast. Let’s go back down, or you can wait here and I’ll go.”

            “Tom,” he said, staggering over to me and placing a hand on my shoulder, “we’ve come this far and I won’t betray everything you’ve worked for by failing us now. We’ve come too far.” He looked me in the eyes with all the intensity of an artic explorer.

            “Okay,” I said slowly, “but we’re turning back at the first sign of trouble.”

            We waited for ten minutes or so, as Ed recovered, and then continued along. After a further struggle we finally made it to the peak. This was only the end of the initial climb, however, there was much more still to go over this brief horizon.

            It was an odd spot, almost a cratered peak, like that of a volcano, and in the hollow someone had built a very small farming area with a few barns and little cottages. Oddly though, it was completely abandoned.

            “Let’s stop here!” Ed suggested eagerly. And so we had a break. Ed had brought along a Frisbee and we threw it to one another across the cratered area, occasionally resulting in crazed dangerous rescue missions when it went astray. Time passed and eventually we stopped for a break and looked down the long valley we had conquered back to the lake. Technically we still had a distance to cover if we were to stick to the planned schedule but Ed argued that we should stay in the crater for the night. I reluctantly agreed, if only for fear of straining his heart any further.

           

*

 

            “Hey, Tom, over here!” shouted Ed. I’d begun to unpack a few things to set up for the night and Ed had wandered off to explore. I went around a rock and found him on a sort of ledge overlooking the valley. The sun had begun to set now and he had draped himself over a giant cross. He was silhouetted against a dark orange sky over a dusken valley.

            “That’s not funny Ed.”

            He dismounted and walked over to me.

            “What’s your problem?”

            “Well, it’s a bit offensive.”

            “Tom, you don’t believe in God.”

            “No, but still.”

            “Still what? What’s going to happen?”

            “It offends people who do believe.”

            “Aside from the fact that that’s a good thing, look around you Tom, there’s no one out here, we’re all alone.”

            “Just don’t do it.”

            If ever there was a stupid thing to say. Ed immediately turned back to the cross and once again hung himself over it, head lolling to the side.

            “Have the courage of your convictions Tom, make a choice. If you believe then strike me down, but if you don’t then stop being a prick.”

            “I’d rather have the humility of one who’s in no position to know any certain truths.”

            “No, that’s right, you never do know anything for certain do you? You need to stop dithering and make some choices in life. Be a man. Or would you rather just be inoffensive all your life?”

            “Let’s go set up the tent, Ed.”

            “Fuck that,” said Ed, content to take my change of subject, “let’s sleep in there!” he was pointing to one of the barns.

            “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. What if a farmer or someone comes?”

            But Ed was not to be persuaded and sure enough we stayed the night in the barn. After a brief meal we climbed into our sleeping bags on the dusty floor of the barn, closed the door and tried to sleep. Light still came into the barn through cracks between the wooden planks that made the walls. The light dimmed slowly but surely, reducing the barn to grey, and just as surely I was filled with a terrible dread, like vertigo.

I have to be out here for another six or seven weeks to pull this thing off. Can I handle Ed for that long? What will become of my job? What will become of Sharona and Annabell? The singers of ‘I Would Walk 500 Miles’ were trying to prove their love to one woman, who am I trying to prove it to? Am I proving anything at all?

Nice, Madrid or Rome?

          “If we’re going to do this thing then we need to do it properly,” I said, we were discussing the technicalities of the walk. “I’m not running around in the wilderness at random. We need maps, and equipment.”

            “What? Like a goddamn Duke of Edinburgh’s award expedition?” Ed replied. “How hard can it be? We just start on the southern edge of Lac Lemon and head south. We can ask people occasionally if it gets tricky.”

            “You’re such an idiot.”

            “I’m serious. Look, we know roughly when morning is…”

            “…I was meaning to talk to you about that…”

            “…We’re not buying a clock, Tom, and don’t interrupt me. So: we know when morning is. In the morning the sun rises in the West and sets in the East.”

            “It’s the other way around, Ed.”

            “Yeah, well, whatever. The points is that it points south at midday. So we just follow the sun.”

            There was a pause as I stared at him in disbelief.

            “…at midday?”

            “Yes.”

            “For which we need a clock.”

            “We can guesstimate it.”

            “I want to walk to Nice, Ed, not Madrid or Rome.”

            “Don’t be such a spoilsport.”

            “I’m buying a compass.”

 

*

 

            Annabell sent me another email this evening. She was excited to hear about my holiday in Geneva and enquired as to my return. She appeared rather eager on this point and said she wanted to meet up with me ‘to discuss things’. This can only be good news, surely? It’s not like she can separate herself further from me, maybe she wants to get back together!

            I wonder if maybe I should just head back there. I haven’t mentioned the emails to Ed, and I don’t think I will. I’m just going to think it through.

PunchDrunk

          Ed had a fantastic time last night. Just how fantastic I can’t say, but he certainly met those two girls, and he certainly didn’t come home with us. I have to add that they really were stunning last night, wearing short gold dresses (standard fare for the club named ‘Golden Dream’), and sporting long straight sun-blonde hair.

Ed welcomed them over as soon as he spotted them and immediately began joking and chatting away with them as though they were just anyone, and not the two most spectacular women in the place. They appeared to admire him in equal measures; it was, as I’ve already said, difficult to tell them apart. Ed may have been a very lucky man, but to be honest I haven’t asked him. There’s only so much untainted happiness anyone can have for their friends.

Sharona and I sat together and alone towards the end of the evening, lethargic and weighed down. We listened to the last song, I Would Walk 500 Miles, with total apathy and then set off back to the hotel. We went to bed and fell asleep straight away, back to back.

 

*

 

            Sharona woke early this morning and retreated into the city to do some shopping. While she was out Ed came in to see me.

            “It’s time to cut loose Tom” he said. He hadn’t even said good morning.

            “Eh?”

            “There’s never been a better time for it than now, just as we’re about to set off on our next adventure: the GR5!”

            “The what?”

            Ed explained it to me. The GR5, or Grande Randoneé Cinq, is a long distance walk from Holland to Nice in Southern France. It is thousands of miles long. Ed was suggesting we just do the most common part of the route, from Lac Lemon to Nice, a mere 440 miles, and therefore close enough to the song we’d heard the night before. At first I was horrified: more time away from work, hundreds of miles of walking, total disregard for my life at home and… the women.

            It would mean the end of Sharona, for now at least, since Ed insisted she couldn’t come, and I could not bring myself to protest strongly enough. Equally, though, it would mean several weeks until I could follow up on Annabell’s unexpected revival of interest. What if she were to turn cold again before I returned?

            Nonetheless, it represented something new and different: something that was neither uncertain or undecided, neither Annabell nor Sharona. It was an escape route, and so what? I know everyone disapproves of running away from problems but I don’t give a fuck right now. I think sometimes things need time, sometimes problems cannot be fixed immediately.

            So I decided to go.

            “Of course you will,” said Ed. “I never doubted it. Now we just have to tell Sharona.”

           

*

 

            “It’s not the end, Sharona, honestly,” I said, when we’d explained it to her. I could see her face twisting up with rage. The pitiful little girl was gone, this was the fiery creature I’d met. It almost made me sorry for my choice.

            “Who are you to tell me when it’s the end or not?” she shouted.

            “Listen, darling,” said Ed, “he’s right. This is just an adventure Tom and I need to do on our own. It’s a man thing.”

            Sharona looked apoplectic.

            “Look, here’s a sign of good faith,” he said, “have the keys to my flat, stay there while we do this.” He threw the keys through the air to her. She caught them angrily and stared at us. “Don’t take it so personally, Sharona. You always knew what you were getting with us. But we’ll be back, you’ll see.”

            But she was ignoring him; her gaze was fixed upon me. “God you’re fucked up Tom. This is all about Annabell isn’t it? Don’t look so surprised, I’m not an idiot. What’s the matter with you? You’d choose the girl who feels nothing but contempt for you over the girl who loves you?”

            She’d said too much. She put her hand over her mouth, grabbed her back and ran out.

            “Wow,” said Ed, “I didn’t see that one coming. Well… at least she’d gone now eh mate?”

           

            I punched him.

 

            Square in the eye. He went straight down, he didn’t even try to block it.

            “I’m sorry, Tom,” he said, unfazed, from the ground. “I hope you feel better now. You can do that again if you like. No? I’ll even hit you back if it’ll help. Come on, let’s go get drunk.”

I Think We're Outgrowing Her

“God does not play dice with the world.” – Albert Einstein

“Stop telling God what to do.” – Niels Bohr

 

          Sharona was still in bed as I checked my emails today. I had one from Alice and one from Annabell. Alice always writes with modesty and kindness. She gave me a brief outline of her life, in the barest terms, and then devoted much more time to asking questions about my adventures.

            Annabell, on the other went, had detailed her recent working life in the most extensive manner. Apparently she’s been having difficulty with one of the other CPS prosecutors in her office. They’ve been developing a rivalry that’s boiled over into open office warfare. Annabell is happy because she’d decided to take a case that this girl had rejected as a loser, and she’d won it. She was very proud of herself. At the end of the message she wrote the following:

 

“But never mind me, Tom. How are you? It’s been ages since we met up. I was thinking about you a lot today and wondering what were doing, where you were. Perhaps we could get together soon? I’d like that. X”

 

            She’d left a kiss! Immediately my stomach and heart surged toward one another and commenced an uneasy stand-off.

           

*

 

            “Where did you go, Tom?” Sharona asked me, when I returned to the room.

            “Nowhere,” I snapped back.

            “Okay, I was only asking.”

            “Well don’t. For God’s sake, can’t we ever just have a moment to ourselves?”

            Sharona frowned at me, hurt and slightly confused. I’m not really sure what I was doing. “Sometimes I don’t understand you, Tom.”

            “So what? Why do you always have to understand, share, be there?”

            “I’ll go,” she said, turning away from me.

            I didn’t reply.

            She put on her shoes in the awkward silence and left. I continued to sit on the bed wondering what I’d just done. I felt irritated, but I wasn’t sure where it was directed or how it happened. I didn’t move at all until Ed walked in the best part of an hour later.

            “Where is she?” he asked, straight away.

            “She went for a walk.”

            “What, you two had an argument?” he said, cutting straight through the nuances of my face.

            “No, she’s just gone for a walk.”

            “Shit, what was it about?”

            “Nothing, Ed, there was no argument.”

            “Bloody hell, I knew this would happen. Do you think you’ll get back together?”

            “We didn’t split up.”

            “Honestly mate, I beginning to think it might be better to travel without her anyway. She holds us back a bit, you know?”

            “What? You’re the one who’s always telling me to sort it out with her! You like her!” I paused. Ed had reacted to those last words; there was something funny in his expression. “Wait just a minute…” I began.

            “I just think we’re outgrowing her. You should never be with one girl too long, Tom, it’s a basic rule.”

            At this moment, as Ed shared his wisdom, Sharona came back into the room. She looked from one of us to the other and back again. Ed sat impassively staring at the floor, avoiding her eyes. I half looked at her, as one does at a pretty girl on the tube, ready to look away at the first sign of trouble.

            “Well?” she said.

            “I…” It was impossible. I had no idea what to think, or feel. Should I have told her that the only thing in my head was the unwelcome and unexpected, surprising thought that she just didn’t (couldn’t… wouldn’t?) fit into my life, unlike others, unlike Annabell? I looked at Ed, somehow hoping he’d help.

            “Don’t look at him for God’s sake, you’re supposed to be apologising to me! I can’t believe I came back. You know what? Fuck you!”

            She left.

            “That went well,” said Ed.

Disapproval and Disrepute

          “What next?” asked Ed, as soon as I walked in from work tonight.

            “Nothing,” I replied, “I’ve got work to do.” It’s true, I did have, and I still do. I’ve been neglecting my job for months now. With all the weirdness in the last few days it’s actually a bit of a relief just to get down to some nice, straightforward road traffic accidents.

            Sharona walked in from the bedroom. “Hi Tom! Good day?”

            “Don’t bother, Sharona,” said Ed. “He’s not worth it.” He stared at me with unexpected distaste.

            “Ed?” I said.

            “What, Evans? Can’t take a little disapproval?”

            “Of course, but… maybe I’m not explaining myself well…”

            “Don’t patronise me. Just do what I say.”

            I screwed up my face quizzically and looked at him. I couldn’t believe he was talking to me this way right in front of Sharona. How could he just stand there and order me about like that? I ought to have put him straight. I ought to have fucking knocked him out. I looked at Sharona… I guess I thought it wasn’t the done thing to do it in front of her.

            But what of her? She didn’t seem too offended on my behalf. I couldn’t read her at all in fact. She spends all day with Ed, every day at the moment. If he’s such great fucking company why doesn’t she just get together with him? They’re both as screwed up as each other, and I should be with Annabell anyway: someone normal, who won’t bring me into disrepute; someone who I can present to society with confidence.

            “I don’t need this,” I said, and went to my room to work. I’ve been there since, and now I’m going to bed, alone. Sharona can come when she pleases, as usual.

Clash and Lash

          It was all crazy madness this morning. We pulled into Euston on the night train at about eight and I switched on my phone to find out what I had to do. I could’ve switched it on earlier but part of me didn’t want to know, since I couldn’t do anything about it.

            I had a message from my clerks. I had a hearing in Oxford at midday, 12:00. This was not a total disaster, but it meant an insane rush for me. I dashed into chambers to grab my brief and then sped back home to change into my suit before heading out again. I made it to the hearing five minutes late. Fortunately the judge was busy finishing the case before so my tardiness wasn’t even noted. The hearing was easy and passed without problem.

            But Oxford… Oh Oxford, home of all my greatest confusions.

            Sure enough, as I stepped out of the court I saw Annabell walking along the road opposite. My heart juddered: I wouldn’t call it a flutter, more of a muddled jerk. Nonetheless I went across the road and intercepted her.

            “Annabell!”

            “Tom! What are you doing here? It’s so good to see you!”

            “It is? Er… I’m here on business. I mean: to do a case. In the court. There.” I said, pointing idiotically at the court building.

            She smiled sweetly at me. “Let’s do lunch,” she said.

            The first twenty minutes of lunch was taken with shop talk. Annabell told me all about a case she was prosecuting in court, talking me through the minutiae of the law as though I really cared. As though I were a real barrister. Same old Annabell, I guess. But there she was, looking great and sounding confident. She inspired respect.

            “But really, Tom, how are you doing? Tell me everything.”

            “Everything?” I asked.

            She nodded.

            “Er…” I thought, wanting desperately say something meaningful. All I could do was choke over the sudden image of Sharona in my head. She super-imposed over my vision of Annabell, combining with her like some cheap electronic morphing program. But there were no common points between them for my brain to match, they clashed.

            My confusion was not eased.

            “Well, I’m glad to hear it,” said Annabell, out of patience suddenly. She frowned and looked at me with sudden unexplained pain. “Tom…”

            “Yes?”

            “It’s nothing.”

            “No, I want to know, please tell me.”

            “Well… If you must. It’s just, I thought you should know…”

            “Yes?”

            “I’m seeing Simon.” She blurted. She meant Simon Parry, that twat I met in the Crown Court a couple of months ago.

            I looked at her, uncertain of how to feel. I could see turmoil in her eyes. Something in her wanted to lash out at me, but regretted it, all at the same time. I stood up, without saying a word, and walked out, leaving a tenner on the table.

 

*

 

            I’m home now, and Sharona’s not. I’ve got no idea how I’ll feel when she walks in. I wish I could be alone now. I just can’t dissemble at this moment.

Platonic Love

          I met Sharona and Ed for lunch today to take a break from working in the Temple. We talked about the Sisters venture.

            “Okay,” I said, “what are the options?”

            “Er… let’s see,” Ed replied, “Annabell? Scheherazade?” He was certainly being a prick.

            “Yeah, why not Alice, or Jane while we’re at it?”

            “Okay, do you guys actually know any girls you haven’t screwed?” Sharona asked.

            “Er…”

            “Oh, I know!” I said. “There’s this girl, Nicole, a good friend of mine who lives in Soho. You’ll really like her, she does graphic design for television.”

            And so it was sorted. We’re all meeting tomorrow night.

Freedom

          Ed jumped out of bed this morning, eager to get back out amongst the waves. There is something invigorating about being caught amongst a thousand drops of hydrogen and oxygen collectively pulled by a giant rock thousands of miles away. Despite these attractions I made an alternative suggestion.

            “Perhaps we could do something… I don’t know… cultural?”

            They both laughed. In Virginia Beach? Come on.

            In the end we skipped along the coast a short way to the Waterbreeze water park. We spent all morning flying down water slides laughing. At one point I risked being thrown out by riding down one with Sharona in my lap. She tried to kiss me half way down but kept missing and we crashed into the water at the bottom laughing and throwing water at each other and Ed.

            When it was time to go we all went for a shower. I met Sharona outside the block before Ed got there.

            “You know what, Tom?” she said to me, “I wish life could always be so simple like this. I’d like to be free forever.”

            To be honest this moment brought a crashing end to the simplicity of the day for me. I was happy with freedom when it came subconsciously, but the truth is that freedom isn’t really my thing. How can a girl who lives for it be a match for me?

 

*

 

            When we got back to the hostel this afternoon I checked my emails. I had one from Annabell. The moment I saw it my heart start racing. I opened it, hoping against hope that it was at least personal – that it might betray some feeling.

            It did. She said she’d been thinking of me and wondering how I was! She wants to see me when I’m next about.

            But now I’ve got Sharona, and she’s coming all the way to England with me, for me. Suddenly that seems all the more terrifying. It’s choking, the idea of someone making a sacrifice like that for me.

            I get on the Greyhound tonight for the last time before getting to the airport. Right now I’ve got no idea what to think. I’m confused, but I can’t let it show until I understand it.

So I’ll let it all drag me along.

I Write Sins, Not Tragedies

          I woke up very confused this morning. Ed and I were both up early, somehow disaffected and unable to remain lying about in bed. I told him all about my date last night. It sounds a disaster, I know, but on the other hand… she’s got the money, the class and the credentials to make a respectable partner.

            “That’s all very well, Tom, but the whole thing’s just not quite right is it? It’s no different to the Annabell debacle really, is it? Right stats; wrong heart. Honestly, Tom, there’s more to you than these girls can perceive. You need someone deeper.”

            “You can’t compare Fiona to Annabell!” I said, outraged.

            “What’s the root of the offence you take Tom?” he said. I paused, surprised at the question. He had a point though. I was offended because Fiona could never be half the girl Annabell was, and therein lay the solution to any question I might have had. I could never be with Fiona in that knowledge.

            “I see.” I said. “Well, you’re right. I can’t see her again. But her step-dad can make or break my career. What can I do?”

            “Block and delete, Tom, block and delete. And once you’re done with that, try internet dating, might be good for a laugh.”

 

*

 

            A few hours later we were still sitting lazily about. Ed’s not very good at this and was becoming visibly itchy with inactivity.

            “Right,” he said, “that’s it. I’m not taking no for an answer. We’re going on another adventure.”

            “We’ve talked about this Ed.”

            “No, I’ve suggested it and you’ve whined like a fucking girl.”

            “I’ve given perfectly valid reas…”

            “Shut the fuck up. Now listen: if you ever hope to get anything out of life you’re going to have to let go of all these meaningless boundaries you set yourself. We’ll do it by your rules, but do it we shall. Fiona is the final straw. Do you really want to move to the country and become middle aged years before your time? Live a little, Evans.”

            He brooked no further protest and in the indolent haze of Saturday morning the lure of the adventures became suddenly too strong. I felt myself giving in but protested once more.<